Melting Ice
by Morgan Says
Summary: A new letter has shown up on the Hogwarts Notice Board. Who wrote it and what do they have to say? - Five points if you guess right. -


Title: Melting Ice

Author: Alanna Riddle

Summary: A new letter has been posted on the Hogwarts Notice Board. Who wrote it and what do they have to say?

Rated PG13 for angst, light child abuse, and child neglect.

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Dear Reader,

For many years, I have tried to turn a blind eye to the disastrous happenings about me; the pain, the agony, the very fear that chills your bones on a humid summer night.

As it is, the rough fingers of reality forced my eyelids apart, and I saw. It was as if a thick, black veil had been removed from over my body, and my eyes viewed sunlight for the first time.

Someone had always been above me; controlling me. They planned my every move, every step, and every breath. Even the decisions of what clothing should drape my back were not ever mine.

The words that spilled from my father's lips were true. I accepted every thing he told me and did anything he asked of me; he was my Ruler and I was his Slave.

I never thought, not even once, to question what I was being told.

I never asked, "What if I…?" or "But why should I …"

In other words, I was programmed by my father. Every word muttered, and every insult and opinion given was not my own. I had been too brainwashed to notice.

Ever since I can remember, my life was run by rules and restrictions.

I was a child, yet was not aloud to "play," only to learn.

Lessons were drilled mechanically into my mind. At an age where other children were playing games in the mud and making sloppy messes of themselves, I sat straight backed in a stiff wooden chair reciting French poetry by heart.

Not only was I not allowed to act the part of a normal human child, but there was one thing that I had been deprived of completely, and it wasn't as if I could obtain it behind my father's back.

That thing was love.

I remember one day, at the age of four, I asked my father why he never hugged me like other children's fathers.

It was a simple, sincere question. My first and last.

The man glanced at me and pointed his wand at my throat.

I was told that I was expected to grow up a strong man, to make the family proud, and that affection made strong people weak.

"Love," he told me, "is only for dirty-blooded fools whom have nothing better to do with their lives."

After that, I was sent to the dungeons and locked in a cell.

I waited for three days before seeing the light again.

I didn't cry.

I wasn't aloud to.

I didn't beg for food or drink.

Begging is for the lowly.

The night my mother snuck in my room, took my hand gently, and cried.

She didn't know I was awake.

The next day she told me that she used to love my father.

I repeated what That Man had told me.

She cried some more.

The Dark Arts was another blot discoloring the painting that was my soul.

I had been trained with this particular form of magic since I was old enough to hold my father's wand.

Curses that could inflict pain and suffering are etched forever in my mind.

And on my body.

The scars are proof.

Two of the three Unforgiveables were demonstrated for me by That Man.

Demonstrated on me.

He said it would help me understand them better.

I grew up being told stories about a very powerful wizard who would finally change the world for the better.

For the better of bigoted pure-blooded wizards, that is.

We are less than three-tenths of the population.

My father told me he would rid the world of the filth and the fools associated with them.

Those were the other seven-tenths.

That's a lot of people to kill.

I was raised to help kill them.

Raised to be a Death Eater.

I thought it was my destiny at the time.

Ironically, what made me come to my own decision about my life was made possible by someone I was taught to despise.

And despise Him I did.

That person took my father away from me.

I was left confused.

No one held the end of my leash anymore.

The collar dropped at my feet.

I thought.

And thought.

And thought.

Did I want to live that sort of life?

No.

Did I really believe in killing other people to get my way?

No.

Did I want to bow down to a madman?

No.

The big question was, did I love my father?

I did.

He ruined my life, but I loved him.

I am not a Death Eater. I am my own man.

And now I write to you, Reader, not to ask for pity or remorse.

I am passing along a message that it took my sixteen years to learn;

When you do something, do it because you believe it is the best thing for you and others around you. Don't do it because others _say_ it is.

Don't fall into the trap the Dark One sets.

The darkness will change you, and it is never for the better.

It changed my father.

- Melting Ice

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{A/N: This One Shot has been in my notebook for a year. Review.}


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